


Reunited

by servantofclio



Series: Jocelyn Hawke [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, flirty friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-19 11:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18135101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: Hawke slinks into Skyhold with the morning traffic.





	Reunited

Hawke slinks into Skyhold with the morning traffic. There turns out to be rather a lot of it. She’d somehow expected to have to explain herself to officious gate guards, but instead she’s waved in among the wash of merchants hauling goods, messengers, and mercenaries. The guards do no more than glance over her mismatched armor and weapons while she attempts to flash an ingratiating smile.

It’s mildly disappointing, though she supposes what’s left of her Champion’s armor _is_ a little the worse for wear. Still, she has a perverse whim to draw herself up and sneer, “Don’t you know who I _am_?” But two years of living on the road has successfully driven that particular imp into hiding.

As it is, there are definitely people in Skyhold who would recognize her on sight. Freshly admitted to the bustling courtyard, Hawke scans around, but doesn’t spot any now-or-former templars that she knows. That’s a bit of a relief, all things considered.

It is, in fact, surprisingly easy not to be noticed. Between the people setting up their market stalls, the other people trying to get them to set up their market stalls over _there_ , not over _here_ , the assorted horses and pack animals, and the armed people hacking away at training dummies, it’s a wonder anyone notices anyone at all. The Inquisition is a bit of a going concern for an organization that had a blighty army and a mountain dropped on it just over a month before.

Hawke surveys the scene and goes in search of Varric.

There are a lot of places Varric isn’t going to be. The stables, for one; the guard room where patrols of Inquisition soldiers are checking in, for another. Avoiding those, Hawke noses around a bit and locates a tavern. Brilliant.

Even this early in the day, the tavern has its share of occupants, from people obviously slouching in being up all night to people grabbing a morning nip. The dwarf behind the bar eyes her curiously, but doesn’t strike up a conversation.

No Varric, though. That’s peculiar.

Or perhaps not so peculiar, Varric isn’t exactly an early riser.

Hawke sips weak ale for an hour or so, but still no Varric; so she drops her coin on the table and heads off. No Varric in the courtyard, no Varric haggling with the merchants; there’s no obviously way to tell which of the many sleeping quarters he’s appropriated. Maker, how big is this place, anyway?

Eventually she sidles into the main hallway, where there’s a clamor of construction and people are hanging tapestries against the chilly walls. Her attention is caught for a moment by the rather gaudy throne plopped down at the far end of the hall. Impressive. Pretentious? She can’t decide which. If the goal is to keep up with the Orlesians, she supposes it’s a good bet.

At last, though, she hears a familiar voice , and sure enough, there’s Varric by the fire. She should have known he’d seek out the coziest spot on this freezing mountaintop.

Hawke loiters until he’s done with his current conversation. Then she sneaks up behind him and plants a kiss on the top of his head. Privileges of being taller.

Varric sputters and whips around. His eyes widen when he sees her, then dart frantically around the room. He grabs her sleeve and pulls her close enough that he can hiss, “What are you doing here?”

“You told me to come,” Hawke points out. “Nice to see you, too.”

“I didn’t think you’d come in _here_.” He casts another swift look around the room. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk privately.”

She follows along, not that she has much choice with him hauling on her wrist. “I’m not sure what you thought I’d do,” she says once he’s led her out of the main hall and into a quiet corridor. “You don’t exactly have a flag up advertising your location.”

“I thought you’d send a message or something.”

That… actually is a rather obvious choice, which somehow never occurred to her. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I? I might as well come in myself.”

Varric finally lets go of her arms and turns around to look at her – a good, long look, up and down. Hawke smiles and spreads her arms obligingly, to prove she’s not dead, injured, or otherwise provoking that worried look. “Yeah,” he says finally. “You’re here.”

She leans over to kiss him on the forehead before he can get away. “What a long face! Anyone would think you weren’t happy to see me, Varric.”

He chuckles softly, and finally gives her a smile. “You have no idea, Hawke.”


End file.
